#ugarit

From Ḫanat to Anat

Anat’s history most likely begins in the western part of Mesopotamia, on the banks of the middle section of the Euphrates. A goddess named Ḫanat, the namesake tutelary deity of the city of Ḫanat (modern Anah in Iraq), appears in texts from Old Babylonian Mari from around 1800 BCE or so. The etymology of this name is not entirely certain, but the most plausible proposal is that it is a cognate of the word ‘anwat - “force” or “violence”. Furthermore, a connection with Ḫana - an Amorite confederation well documented in the same period - has been proposed, but it remains less certain, as despite phonetic similarity the Ḫana didn’t live particularly close to the city of Ḫanat (Peggy L. Day, Anat in the Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, p. 36).

To be entirely fair, some doubts have been expressed about treating Ḫanat as the early form of Anat (Lluís Feliu, The God Dagan in Bronze Age Syria, p.115). However, this is a much less prominent position in scholarship overall. Furthermore, sources from the namesake city itself indicate that whether applied to the settlement or to its goddess, the original Ḫanat shifted to Anat at some point between the Old Babylonian and Neo-Assyrian period, confirming we’re dealing with two forms of the same name (Daniel Schwemer, Die Wettergottgestalten Mesopotamiens und Nordsyriens im Zeitalter der Keilschriftkulturen. Materialien und Studien nach den schriftlichen Quellen, p. 625).

Despite the phonetic similarity of the names and possibly related meaning, a linguistic connection between Anat and Annunitum - “the warlike” or “the skirmisher” -  has been ruled out (Gebhard J. Selz, Five Divine Ladies: Fragments to Inana(k), Ištar, In(n)in(a), Annunītum, and Anat, and the origin of the title “Queen of Heaven”, p. 35; note I don’t really recommend this article, though, especially as a starting point).

The theory of Anat’s Amorite origins was arguably strengthened by the recent publication of a unique text. In 2022 it was discovered that as Ḫanat (ḫa-na-tum) she is listed among Amorite deities in a unique Amorite-Akkadian bilingual (Andrew George, Manfred Krebernik, Two Remarkable Vocabularies: Amorite-Akkadian Bilinguals!, p. 119). This text has been dated to the reign of either Rim-Sin I of Larsa or Hammurabi of Babylon - roughly to 1800 BCE (Two Remarkable…, p. 113). 

Roughly in the same period, a temple dedicated to Ḫanat existed in her namesake city (Anat…, p. 39). At the time it was a part of the kingdom of Mari, ruled by Zimri-Lim. She was evidently seen as a major deity locally, since oath formulas, greetings in letters and the like invoke her alongside Dagan, who was recognized as the head god across the middle Euphrates (The God…, p. 143-144). In the capital of the kingdom of Mari, which was also known as Mari, Ḫanat occupied a relatively prominent position in lists of offerings made by women living and working in Zimri-Lim’s palace, right behind the pantheon heads, tutelary deities of the city and the palace itself, and pan-Mesopotamian superstars (The God…, p. 89). She’s also mentioned as a recipient of offerings in the archive of Asqudum, Zimri-Lim’s steward (The God…, p. 79). Furthermore, she appears in both feminine and masculine theophoric names, though the latter are by far more common (Ichiro Nakata, A Study of Women’s Theophoric Personal Names in the Old Babylonian Texts from Mari, p. 251-252). A certain relatively prominent mr. Ḫabdi-Ḫanat (“servant of Ḫanat”) was a craftsman and at one point was entrusted with preparing a throne for the temple of Dagan in Mari (The God…, p. 130).

The Mari text corpus doesn’t exactly offer much in the way of mythology - let alone narratives specifically focusing on Ḫanat - but she does make a cameo in the account of a prophecy supposedly issued by Dagan. It was sent to Zimri-Lim by a certain Shamash-nasir, an official who resided in Terqa, Dagan’s cult center (well, one of them, he had a second one further up the Euphrates, in Tuttul):

However, the narrative doesn’t deal with strictly mythical affairs. Rather, it projects contemporary politics into the realm of the divine. Dagan, as the god of the Mariote kingdom’s spiritual capital and the head of its pantheon, represents Mari and its interests. Tishpak, who played a similarly prominent role in Eshnunna, is hostile towards Dagan’s subordinates - the deities of other cities in the same kingdom - because Eshnunna and Mari were not exactly on the best terms (not at this specific point in time, at least). Ḫanat is singled out in particular because her namesake cult center was close to Mari’s borders, and thus at a particular risk whenever armies of rival kingdoms were on the march. The prophecy evidently reassures Zimri-Lim that in the end Mariote interests will prevail, though, for clearly Tishpak is a god of lesser caliber than Dagan (this is not entirely wrong - he was never recognized as a senior member of the pantheon, a “father of gods” of sorts, like him) and will end up judged and sentenced for his transgressions (The God…, p. 115-116). In the end this is not very different from political cartoons starring personifications of countries. Mari actually was sacked (not by Eshnunna, though) and largely lost its relevance not too long after this letter was sent. That was not the end of the history of Ḫanat, though. She appears under the better known form of her name in the most extensive Mesopotamian god list presently known, the late second millennium BCE An = Anum. Her placement in it is not very informative, though - she can be found in a wastebasket section containing a bunch of names of western goddesses (Wilfred G. Lambert, Ryan D. Winters, An = Anum and Related Lists, p. 26). The compilers presumably knew she was worshiped somewhere west of Babylonia proper, but not much beyond that.  The city of Anat reappears later in sources which most likely should be dated to the eighth century BCE (Grant Frame, Rulers of Babylonia From the Second Dynasty of Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157-612 BC), p. 275). An inscription of a local governor, Ninurta-kudurri-usur, indicates that at least by then the temple of the namesake goddess located there was known as the Ešuzianna - “house, true hand of heaven” (Andrew R. George, House Most High. The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia, p. 147). Assignment of ceremonial Sumerian names of this sort to temples was customary across virtually the entire Mesopotamia (House Most…, p. 59).

Ninurta-kudurri-usur’s stela (wikimedia commons) Ninurta-kudurri-usur left behind a stela commemorating his restoration of the Ešuzianna, on which he is seemingly depicted worshiping Anat, though the depiction of the goddess herself (left) is heavily damaged. In the accompanying inscription he relays how he took the city back from the Assyrians, restored the temple and repaired its main statue, which was supposedly deprived of its paraphernalia and hidden somewhere under the new management. He also claims that he followed guidance dating back to the times of Hammurabi (who he claims was his distant ancestor) when it came to reestablishing the proper worship of Anat in her city after this temporary disturbance (Rulers of…, p. 317-318).

Shamash-resh-usur’s stela (wikimedia commons) Anat might also be depicted on a damaged stela of Ninurta-kudurri-usur’s father and predecessor Shamash-resh-usur, behind a depiction of him; the other two deities are Adad and Ishtar (Rulers of…, p. 279). It is also inscribed with a lengthy account of Shamash-resh-usur’s deeds, culminating in an account of his beekeeping ventures. He proudly declares that he “brought down from the mountain of the people of Ḫabḫu the bees which gather honey - which none from among my forefathers had seen or brought down to the land of Suhu” and that he and the gardeners in his employ mastered the art of separating honey and wax from their combs. He finished by voicing his hope that the future generations will continue to ask their elders "Is it true that Shamash-resh-usur, the governor of the land of Suhu, introduced honey-bees into the land of Suhu?" (Rulers of…, p. 280-281). Sadly, Anat’s views on the bees are left unspecified.

Ultimately the entries in god lists, the scattered Mariote references, and even the inscriptions from Anat’s namesake cult center don’t provide much information about her character; Anat just so happens to be mentioned there, mostly on account of the geographic location of her primary cult center. Luckily, as the next few sections of this article will demonstrate, different text corpora are considerably more informative in that regard.

“Tomboy goddess”: Anat in Ugarit

Much information about Anat’s character can be gleaned from texts discovered in Ugarit in the northwest of modern Syria. Her presence in this text corpus is hardly surprising. Despite the vintage and still oft cited characterization of Ugarit as “Canaanite”, regardless of whether the subject of comparison would be textual sources, religion, or material remains, the closest parallels are indisputably Amorite centers - nearby Alalakh and Ebla, but also more distant Mari. Quite notably, there is evidence of increased settlement in Ugarit contemporarily with the rise of Zimri-Lim’s dynasty to power in Mari (Mary E. Buck, The Amorite Dynasty of Ugarit. Historical Implications of Linguistic and Archaeological Parallels, p. 261-262.). Given that the Amorite culture originally likely arose in the Jebel Bishri, this too is not unexpected all around (The Amorite…, p. 269).

Ugaritic texts uniformly portray Anat as a goddess of warfare, and by extension as an enthusiast of engaging in violence herself (Mark S. Smith, Wayne T. Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle. Volume II. Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU/CAT 1.3–1.4, p. 149). This constitutes a reversal of gender roles, with a feminine figure playing a masculine one. However, Anat was was hardly unique in that regard (Ilona Zsolnay, Do Divine Structures of Gender Mirror Mortal Structures of Gender?, p. 114).

Anat’s gender nonconformity is also emphasized in sources dealing with her second major role, that of a huntress. In the Epic of Aqhat, the eponymous human protagonist evidently treats it as unusual, and sarcastically comments on Anat’s activities because of her gender when she offers to teach him (Mark S. Smith, ‛Athtart in Late Bronze Age Syrian Texts, p. 57-58). Anat kills him shortly after that (with the help of an eagle named Yatpan) when he refuses to hand over his magic bow (Anat…, p. 38).

Dennis Pardee has described her as a “tomboy goddess” (Ritual and Cult at Ugarit, p. 274). This actually appears to be a recurring moniker in publications from the past few decades (The Many…, p. 10). To be entirely honest, I think this is both more nuanced and more accurate than anything written about her in the entire preceding century. Note that Anat is simultaneously still held as the paragon of feminine beauty, as attested by a passage from the Epic of Kirta in which the appearance of a prospective bride is compared to hers and Ashtart’s  (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 64). It’s probably also relevant that the title batūl(a)tu (btlt; the Ugaritic script is an abjad, hence the uncertainty about vowels) is Anat’s most common epithet in the Ugaritic corpus, and the second most commonly repeated epithet of any Ugaritic deity altogether, with only Baal’s standard designation as the “mighty one” (aliyan) occurring more frequently. Despite the common use of translations like “maiden” or “virgin”, there’s no real indication that batūl(a)tu had a meaning more specific than “young woman”. It can be compared with Mesopotamian titles like ardatu, kisikil or batultu, which similarly reflect youthfulness, as opposed to chastity (Aicha Rahmouni, Divine Epithets in the Ugaritic Alphabetic Texts, p. 139-141). It should probably be considered an indication of childlessness, though (Die Wettergottgestalten…, p. 544).

The discussion of Anat’s character and gender roles cannot be complete without addressing her frequent modern characterization as a “fertility goddess” and the like. Simply put, it is unfounded (Anat…, p. 36-37). Jo Ann Hackett argues that “fertility” or “mothering” are traits ascribed to goddesses today because they’re “comforting” and “nonthreatening”. She also points out that by making every deity who happens to be female a representation of these concepts, it becomes easy to make them aspects of some universal feminine principle, without the need to engage with historical context or consider individual characteristics. It also helps with maintaining a model of femininity reduced to biological essentials, in which women are firmly on the “nature” side of nature-culture dichotomy regardless of the time period - no matter what the primary sources have to say (Can a Sexist Model Liberate Us? Ancient near Eastern "Fertility" Goddesses, p. 75). Nearly forty years have passed since the initial publication of her article, but it’s honestly still hard to disagree. Ultimately whether dealing with Anat or any other goddess, it’s helpful to bear in mind that deities in general were not necessarily supposed to reflect the normative gender roles because they could be defined by other aspects of their character more strongly than gender (Do Divine Structures…, p. 115-116).

Anat in art

Impression of a cylinder seal with a winged goddess who may or may not be Anat (wikimedia commons) Despite the textual sources providing a pretty clear indication of what Anat would in all due likeness look like, identification of depictions of her among the objects excavated at the site of Ugarit is problematic at best, and identification of figures such as the winged goddess on the seal above as Anat is speculative (Keiko Tazawa, Syro-Palestinian Deities in New Kingdom Egypt. The Hermeneutics of their Existence, p. 119). Presumably in antiquity it was clear enough which deity a work of art represents, much like, say, contemporary catholics will likely recognize the statues and paintings of saints in their local church. However, in absence of inscriptions, we often lack similar knowledge and a lot of caution is necessary (Izak Cornelius,The Many Faces of the Goddess: The Iconography of the Syro-Palestinian Goddesses Anat, Astarte, Qedeshet, and Asherah c. 1500-1000 BCE, p. 89).

The winged goddess from Tartus (Louvre; reproduced here for educational purposes only) A commonly discussed example of a possible winged depiction of Anat, while often brought up in the context of her importance in Ugarit, actually comes from Tartus further south (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 119). I must admit it’s my favorite of mine - the stubby wings are funny and unique. However, it should be noted that while Anat is indeed described as winged (or at least capable of flight) on occasion, this doesn’t automatically mean every depiction of her will necessarily have wings - or rather that every winged goddess can automatically be identified as her (The Many…, p. 17).

A seated goddess of uncertain identity (Louvre; reproduced here for educational purposes only) It also should be noted not every possible depiction of Anat is winged, in turn - a figure presently in the Louvre’s collection which has been argued to represent her is clearly wingless (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 119). However, it might also be Athirat (The Many…, p. 100).

The Baal(-Anat?) Cycle

Anat plays a particularly prominent role in the longest and most famous work of Ugaritic literature, the Baal Cycle. Occasionally it is referred to as the “Baal-Anat cycle” to highlight her prominence in it (The Many…, p. 18).

Anat is first mentioned by El, the head of the pantheon, who sends messengers to let her know that he wants to meet with her and that he expects her to abstain from usual warlike endeavors. The rest of this section is not preserved (Mark S. Smith, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle. Volume I. Introduction with Text, Translation & Commentary of KTU 1.1-1.2, p. 195-197).

Anat later reappears when the conflict between Baal and the sea god Yam - the central topic of the first third of the story -  officially begins. Yam’s messengers (who are left unnamed) announce in the divine assembly that he has El’s support as a potential candidate for the position of new king of the gods, prompting almost everyone to kneel in obeisance. They also announce Yam wants Baal to submit to him and pay him tribute. Baal, who was already in sour mood after witnessing the other gods for the most part ready to accept Yam’s primacy, is less than thrilled, and actually attacks the messengers (a grave breach of diplomatic protocol) - but Anat and Ashtart intervene, seizing one of his arms each to prevent things escalating too far (Baal Cycle… vol. 1, p. 267-268). This actually differs from Anat’s portrayal through the rest of the composition, where she enthusiastically engages in violence on behalf of Baal herself (Baal Cycle… vol. 1, p. 102). It has been suggested that this is supposed to indicate Baal’s career has hit rock bottom, and due to Yam’s (temporary) ascendance to the very top of the pantheon even deities otherwise portrayed as his staunch allies aren’t all that eager to help him. Since the ancient audience would be well familiar with Anat’s usual characterization, the scene would naturally shock them and really highlight how dire the situation must be (Baal Cycle… vol. 1, p. 311-312). While this is beyond the scope of this article for the most part, it’s worth noting the scene also constitutes a subversion of a popular motif. A well-read scribe would be familiar with a variety of narratives from nearby areas where the divine assembly selects a god to battle an adversary on their behalf. Here the divine protagonist is instead an underdog, with the assembly actively supporting his opponent (Baal Cycle… vol. 1, p. 315-316). Anat reappears after the defeat of Yam. A passage following a long lacuna describes a battle in which she enthusiastically slaughters the enemy forces, piling up heads and hands, spilling blood left and right, and so on. While she evidently enjoys herself - she laughs and smiles through the whole ordeal despite being splattered in gore - she makes sure to wash herself afterwards (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 69-71). A minority position is that part of the passage deals not with an actual battle, but rather with Anat reenacting earlier events by “battling” chairs and tables to entertain herself as she prepares for a bath (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 161-162).

The reasons behind Anat’s slaughter of enemy combatants are not preserved in the surviving sections of the text, though it’s agreed it’s unlikely she’s supposed to be acting without a reason (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 180). Her enemies might be people who either don’t pay proper respect to the gods or act rebelliously (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 177). The account of the battle as a whole might be an adaptation of motifs best known from texts describing a deity battling hostile foreign troops to protect a king, which would be well known to contemporary audiences (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 150-151).

Interestingly, the description of the battle is oddly lax when it comes to describing the weapons used by Anat. She uses a staff and a bow at one point; in other textual sources and depictions in art add multiple other options, like axes, spears, bows and daggers - effectively every standard weapon in use in the late Bronze Age, really (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 153).

After another lacuna, Anat, now clean from blood, is visited by Baal’s messengers Gupan and Ugar who relay that their boss wants to see her. She is concerned that something bad might have happened, and responds by listing her previous conquests to reassure the visitors that she can solve any such issues (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 71-72):

An obvious issue is that the list includes Yam (twice, in fact - Nahar is his secondary name)  - but Anat had nothing to do with his defeat described in an earlier section of this composition. It might very well be that the compilers were familiar with a distinct tradition in which Anat defeated Yam instead of Baal, or at least assisted in his defeat, and simply didn’t harmonize it well with the cycle as a whole (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 244-245). I think we should be open to the possibility that Yam was just a chronic jobber, though. We don’t know much about most of the other beings listed, though it can be safely assumed that they are divided into two groups, one sea-based and at least partially serpentine judging from their names, and one land-based (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 264). It’s probably not accidental that multiple of them are defined by their connection to El, considering the primary antagonists of the cycle, Yam and Mot, similarly act at least with a permission from him, and bear epithets stressing their association with him (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 246). In any case, the messengers reassure Anat that everything is in order, and that Baal will explain everything once she arrives herself. A brief description of the apparently long journey follows. Once Anat arrives, she learns that Baal is troubled because he doesn’t have a similar palace as the other gods, despite his recent victory over Yam. Anat says that she will intervene on his behalf and get El to agree to have a suitable dwelling built for him. She rushes out to meet with El. Her plan is fairly straightforward: she threatens to quite literally bash his skull in and make his beard red with blood, and only then explains she arrived on behalf of Baal in search of a building permit (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 72-75). There’s some disagreement in scholarship over whether Anat’s threats help Baal emerge victorious from his struggle with the Ugaritic housing market. The key passage is too poorly preserved to tell for sure what emotions Anat’s arrival inspires in El, though they seem to be negative. Smith and Pitard in their edition argue that there’s no reason to assume he’s afraid, though. They point out the surviving sections present an unparalleled scene - Anat isn’t actually granted an audience with El. Her outburst happens outside his chambers. They suggest this indicates El is acting dismissively, either because Anat is not following diplomatic protocol, because he’s not fond of Baal, or both (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 342-343). The intent might be comedic (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 35). Perhaps an even better indication of the failure of Anat’s attempt is the next scene involving her. She shows up again accompanying Baal when he seeks Athirat’s mediation in his ongoing quest for a palace (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 369).  The senior goddess actually panics when she spots them from a distance, and assumes they plan to murder her or some unspecified relatives of hers. Her mood considerably improves as soon as she learns they are instead bearing gifts for her, though, and she agrees to intervene with El on behalf of Baal. Anat ends up accompanying her, so that she can let Baal know how the second attempt went. As soon as she learns Athirat was successful, she instantly rushes out to let Baal know the construction can finally begin. The craftsman god Kothar-wa-Khasis is selected as the architect right away (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 77-81). 

While Anat doesn’t appear in the section of the story that immediately follows, I will nonetheless summarize it for context. Once the palace’s construction is completed, Baal can announce his status as a king of the gods to the world - including “enemies” and “haters” who hide in the mountains and forests. He also decides to send his messengers to inform Mot (“Death”), who resides in the underworld, in “Phlegm, the land of his heritage”, that the cosmos (or at least the small section of it Ugaritic literature is usually concerned with) is under new management (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 86-88).

The final third of the cycle largely focuses on Anat. In a section which remains imperfectly understood, Baal ends up dead through the machinations of Mot. Anat searches for him and attempts to figure out how he died (Baal Cycle… vol. 1, p. 103). Much about the details of the plot remains unclear, and just how much she is aware of in particular - as well as what is really up with Baal - is unclear (Steve A. Wiggins, Shapsh, Lamp of the Gods, p. 333). To make it worse, there’s no complete annotated edition of this section of the story yet - Baal Cycle vol. 3 is sadly nowhere in sight.

In any case, what is clear is that Anat misses Baal after he goes missing: “like the heart of a cow for her calf, like the heart of an ewe for her lamb, so is the heart of Anat after Baal” (Noga Ayali-Darshan, The Death of Mot and his Resurrection in the Light of Egyptian Sources, p. 7; note I don’t really endorse most of this paper’s contents). She eventually finds Baal’s body and starts crying. Shapash, the sun goddess, approaches her and helps her carry Baal’s mortal remains back to Mount Saphon, his dwelling, where they bury him. It’s up for debate whether this is supposed to show that Shapash was particularly compassionate (at least towards Anat), or if the body was simply located in a place she visited daily anyway due to her solar duties, such as the entrance of the underworld (it is established elsewhere in the same composition that she enters it every day). It might very well be that both assumptions are true (Shapsh…, p. 331-333). I won’t dwell upon Shapash’s character here, though - stay tuned for a future article covering her in more detail.

After the burial is over, Anat leaves to inform El about Baal’s death (Shapsh…, p. 333). While announcing the sad news, she bitterly muses that Athirat is likely to rejoice due to his untimely demise. It’s unclear if this is supposed to indicate some underlying hostility between these two deities, or if it only shows that Athirat enjoys her role in nominating gods to prominent positions. With Baal dead, she and El have to select a (temporary) replacement, so it’s not impossible her joy has more to do with having an opportunity to use her prerogatives than with Baal’s death itself (Steve A. Wiggins, A Reassessment of Asherah With Further Considerations of the Goddess, p. 75-77).

Anat eventually figures out Mot is to blame for Baal’s death, tracks him down, and promptly “splits him with a sword, winnows him with a sieve, burns him with fire, grinds him with millstones, sows him in the field”. However, the text makes it clear he’s not yet gone for good: birds try to eat the leftovers but seemingly can’t, and the pieces are “calling each other”, implying he will eventually be able to reform his body (The Death…, p. 8).

Shortly afterwards El calls Anat and Shapash to him to inform them that he had a dream indicating Baal is alive again. The latter goddess is tasked with bringing him back, with Anat giving her her blessing and playing no active role this time (Shapsh…, p. 334-335). It seems that only with the destruction of Mot at her hands Baal’s return to life became possible, though (Baal Cycle… vol. 1, p. 105). Sadly, there’s no reunion scene among the surviving fragments. The story doesn’t end there, though. Despite being split with a sword, winnowed with a sieve, etc., Mot by some miracle gets better as foreshadowed, and shortly after Baal’s return appears to complain about his treatment at the hands of Anat. He actually blames Baal for the fate that has befallen him, listing everything Anat did (The Death…, p. 8-9). He also makes demands, though they are preserved too poorly to interpret. He and Baal apparently start to fight, but Shapash intervenes once again, this time to inform Mot that Baal now has El’s favor, and that the senior god will punish him severely and deprive him of his position if he doesn’t leave. Surprisingly, Mot obeys (Shapsh…, p. 335-336). Perhaps even more unexpectedly, the composition then ends with a hymn praising… Shapash (Shapsh…, p. 337).

It has been suggested that the part of the Baal Cycle dealing with Mot, and in particular the description of his death, is an elaborate agricultural metaphor. However, this might be incorrect, and it’s possible the myth as a whole has more to do with how the exercise of power was viewed in Ugarit (John C. L. Gibson, The Mythological Texts in the Handbook of Ugaritic Studies, p. 197). It’s plausible that the role of Anat and other deities who at different points in the story aid Baal - and the relative weakness of his position it implies - reflected the political position of Ugarit (Baal Cycle… vol. 1, p. 105). In other words, Baal is relatively weak and wins with the assistance of others because the city he was worshiped in was, similarly, a small kingdom surrounded by other small kingdoms, and an on and off vassal of major powers. Just as the king of Ugarit paid tribute to the Hittite Empire, Baal at various points of the narrative has to act as if he was a vassal of Yam or Mot. Obviously we can’t assume that the individual events reflect real history, but it is sensible to assume that the alliances and enmities between the deities were patterned on elements of politics and diplomacy the Ugaritic royal court would be well familiar with (Aaron Tugendhaft, Unsettling Sovereignty: Politics and Poetics in the Baal Cycle, p. 368-370).

Anat/Baal, Ashtart/Baal? Shipping discourse in Ugaritic studies

Baal on a stela from Ugarit (wikimedia commons)

While the bond between Anat and Baal receives a lot of attention in the Baal Cycle, its exact nature is a matter of debate (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 132). What is undeniable is that, as Jo Ann Hackett put it, Anat “has a soft spot for (...) Baal”, in contrast with her generally belligerent attitude towards almost everyone else (Can a Sexist…, p. 69). A major source of ambiguity is that while Anat and Baal regularly refer to each other as brother and sister, this doesn’t necessarily reflect actual biological kinship. These terms could also designate two people as equals, or even as lovers (Neal H. Walls, The Goddess Anat in Ugaritic Myth, p. 89-90).

Aicha Rahmouni points out that Anat is only ever addressed as a daughter of El in the Ugaritic corpus, while one of Baal’s recurring epithets designates him as the “son of Dagan”. Since Anat has no meaningful connection to Dagan, she argues it is implausible she and Baal were understood as biological siblings. In the light of other examples it is plausible to assume referring to deities as siblings was intended as a metaphorical indication of closeness or parity, or at least belonging to the same social group, much as it did for mortals. She considers the evidence for the relationship between Baal and Anat having a sexual or romantic dimension to be inconclusive, though (Divine Epithets…, p. 250-251; for more extensive considerations of “brother” and “sister” as metaphorical terms see my previous article). Daniel Schwemer concludes that while it’s plausible to assume individual compositions might allude to sexual encounters between Anat and Baal, it cannot be assumed they were perceived as a married couple. He also defines the relationship between Baal and Ashtart in similar terms, and ultimately argues that since Baal was portrayed as a young god, it would be plausible to assume he had no permanent spouse in the strict sense, only on and off flings. He additionally stresses neither Anat nor Ashtart was ever described as the mother of Baal’s daughters Pidray, Tallay and Arsay (The Storm-Gods of the Ancient Near East: Summary, Synthesis, Recent Studies: Part II, p. 13-14). Sadly, Schwemer doesn’t clarify whether he assumes this should be taken as an implication of Baal having a third hitherto unidentified friend with benefits who’d fulfill that role.

Note that whatever the nature of the association between Baal and Anat was in Ugarit, it cannot be automatically transferred to other weather gods in different cult centers of Anat. For instance, sources pertaining to the namesake city indicate that she didn’t really have anything to do with Mesopotamian Adad, who was also worshiped there - he was only ever paired with his usual spouse Shala (Die Wettergottgestalten…, p. 625).

It’s also worth noting Anat and Ashart were also associated with each other, presumably due to their shared association with war and hunting (Athtart…, p. 141). Three texts from Ugarit outright pair them together as a distinct dyad, “Anat-wa-Ashtart” - an incantation against snakebite, a composition focused on the god Horon, and a text commonly referred to as Drunkenness of El (Aren M. Wilson-Wright Athtart. The Transmission and Transformation of a Goddess in the Late Bronze Age, p. 67-68). The first of these texts is a simple invocation of assorted deities, imploring them to remove the venom of a snake. Anat and Ashtart are placed between the pairs of Baal and Dagan, and Resheph and Yarikh (Athtart…, p. 183). The second text is pretty much a similar incantation presented in narrative form - various deities are invoked from locations associated with them to help with dealing with serpent bites. Anat and Ashtart are invoked from Inbubu  (Ritual and…, p. 175). This might be a mountain, perhaps one located in the same range as Baal’s more famous Saphon (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 147) or a purely mythical locale (Athtart…, p. 139). Interestingly, Ashtart is then also invoked on her own, from Mari (Ritual and…, p. 176). It has been suggested that in this lone appearance she serves as a stand-in for Mesopotamian Ishtar (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p.133).

The last composition describes a feast in which multiple deities participate. Anat and Ashtart are first mentioned in passing, offering meat to the moon god Yarikh who for one reason or another behaves like a dog. Later, after El overindulges, they leave to hunt (Ritual and…, p. 168-170). Presumably, they are supposed to gather ingredients for a hangover cure (‛Athtart in…, p. 52-53).

Contrary to claims common in old scholarship and online, the pairing of Anat with Ashtart didn’t reflect an ongoing process of fusion between the two. In particular, the vintage assumption that the goddess Atargatis well known from considerably later Greek sources was a fusion of them both is essentially baseless, as while the first half of her name is indeed the Aramaic cognate of Ashtart’s, the second could not be derived from Anat in any linguistically viable way. Ultimately the only reason why Anat ever came up in this context was the blatantly incorrect notion of interchangeability of goddesses (Athtart…, p.140-141).

Excursus: Anat and Hurrians?

The Ugaritic attestations of Anat are so numerous that some of them are basically a mini-corpus representing her reception in a distinct culture: she appears reasonably commonly in Hurrian texts. I won’t dwell upon who the Hurrians were here - it will suffice to say that they formed a distinct culture both in terms of language and pantheon. The members of this group who lived in Ugarit presumably considered Anat unique enough to incorporate her into their pantheon, instead of simply recognizing her as a counterpart of one of its preexistent members, like they did seemingly with deities such as Baal, Shapash or Yarikh (Die Wettergottgestalten…, p. 547). The compilers of the trilingual Ugaritic adaptation of the Mesopotamian Weidner god list also simply phonetically transcribed Anat’s name in the Hurrian column. Somewhat puzzlingly, Anat’s two entries correspond to Saĝkud from the Mesopotamian original (Aaron Tugendhaft, Gods on Clay: Ancient Near Eastern Scholarly Practices and the History of Religions, p. 176). Saĝkud was a male deity of uncertain, though presumably belligerent character (Manfred Krebernik, Saĝkud in the Reallexikon der Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archäologie vol 11, p. 529-530) - perhaps that was sufficient to compare him to Anat, with gender being of secondary importance at best. It should be noted that recognition of equivalence in some regard in similar lists didn’t necessarily mean conflation of the deities involved, though (Gods on Clay…, p. 177). For example, Hurrian ritual texts from Ugarit invoke Kumarbi and El separately from each other (Die Wettergottgestalten…, p. 547), even though the trilingual god list treats them as analogous to each other (Gods on Clay…, p. 175). Some entries are actually word plays, not theological speculation, too. Baal corresponds to the minor Mesopotamian goddess Imzuanna simply because the first sign of her name could be used as a logogram to write names of weather gods, for instance (Gods on Clay…, p. 179).

Ramses II’s self insert commissions: Anat in Egypt

While Ugarit was already quite distant from Anat’s original cult center, the third area which provides a substantial number of references to her is located yet further away. By the final centuries of the second millennium BCE, she had reached Egypt (Anat…, p. 38).

Anat and Ramses II (wikimedia commons)

Compared to other deities imported from the north, like Resheph or Ashtart, Anat was somewhat of a latecomer to the Egyptian pantheon (Christiane Zivie-Coche, Foreign Deities in Egypt in the UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology, p. 2). She first appears in Egyptian sources during the reign of Ramses II (1279–1213 BCE). However, her career reached remarkable heights right off the bat - the pharaoh selected her as his personal tutelary goddess (Athtart…, p. 67). Therefore, texts from his reign invoking her as his divine helper in wars are hardly outlandish. However, it has been argued that he developed an obsession of sorts, and has been jokingly described as an “Anatphile” (The Many…, p. 85). This description honestly doesn’t seem unjustified. One of his daughters was named Bintanat (“daughter of Anat”). He also had a son named Mahiranat (“suckling Anat”); it might be worth noting that he had sons named after Ashtart too, though Furthermore, he owned a dog named Anatemnakht (“Anat is strong”), who’s depicted biting one of his foreign adversaries on a relief from the temple discovered in Beit el-Wali (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 81-82). On top of that references to a variety of his possessions named after Anat are known too (The Many…, p. 85).

Small statuette showing Ramses II in the company of Anat (Louvre; reproduced here for educational purposes only)

Ramses II also had himself depicted in the company of Anat. A life size statue presently in the Cairo Museum (shown earlier) shows them seated next to each other, with Anat affectionately placing her hand on his shoulder. Smaller examples exist too - a depiction of Ramses II and Anat walking together holding hands from the Louvre’s collection is only around 20 centimeters tall (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 74).

You might have already noticed that the two depictions of Anat above don’t look too different from “standard” Egyptian deities. This doesn’t mean that she lost her identity, though. The incorporation of new deities into the Egyptian pantheon didn’t involve a process comparable to interpretatio graeca for the most part, with the occasional exception such as the identification of Seth with Baal (Foreign Deites…, p. 5). Their original character was typically preserved. Their iconography was adjusted to match Egyptian artistic conventions  - though usually without incorporating any animal body parts (Foreign Deites…, p. 6). Accordingly, in Egyptian art Anat was commonly depicted in an atef crown (The Many…, p. 73). Like in textual sources, she could be depicted holding a spear and a shield, though also the was sceptre or the ankh symbol (The Many…, p. 75-76). In some cases, she’s topless or has a single breast exposed (The Many…, p. 75). A notable difference from possible Ugaritic depictions is the lack of wings - none of the confirmed or suspected Egyptian examples have them (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 119-120).

The portrayal of Anat in the Egyptian texts is fairly close to that known from the Ugaritic ones, too. She is described as a war goddess, and in this capacity as “a woman acting as a man, clad as a male and girt as a female” (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 149).

The close connection between Anat and Ashtart is present in Egyptian sources too (Athtart…, p. 67). Both of them could be regarded as daughters of Ra or Ptah (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 133). One example of the former tradition is their small cameo in Contendings of Horus and Seth (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 79). However, even when listed together, they were not explicitly referred to as sisters (Foreign Deites…, p. 6). An incantation against crocodiles known from the Harris Magical Papyrus invokes the gods of Hermopolis to seal their mouths in the same manner as “the opening of the womb of Anat and Athtart was closed (...) when they became pregnant, but could not give birth”. This passage remains a perplexing outlier and might very well be some sort of unique innovation of an Egyptian author (Athtart…, p. 67).

Elsewhere in similar Egyptian literature - for example in the Leiden Magical Papyrus - the two are invoked in a context more reminiscent of the Ugaritic incantations, namely to counter snake venom. It is safe to assume that we’re dealing with a transfer of a specific tradition between Ugarit and Egypt in this case (Athtart…, p. 68). An inscription of Rameses III (1184-1153 BCE) commemorating his campaign in Libya mentions the pair in military context, with both of them metaphorically acting as the pharaoh’s shield (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 76).

A stela with a composite Seth-Baal figure in the top left corner (wikimedia commons)

It’s possible that in the Contendings of Horus and Seth (which you might know thanks to the [in?]famous lettuce scene) both Anat and Ashtart are described as Seth’s prospective brides, too, though this is sometimes disputed, as is the nature of Seth’s connection with both goddesses in general (‛Athtart in…, p. 60). It is generally assumed that it would mirror that between them and Baal, given the identification between him and Seth in Egypt (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 133). This phenomenon was likely motivated by the perception of Seth as the god in charge of foreign lands (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 155). 

A spell from the Leiden Magical Papyrus metaphorically refers to Anat as the “cow of Seth” though it focuses on the use of her milk to scare a disease, not on the nature of the connection between those two deities (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 80). For what it’s worth, a similar title - with Baal in place of Seth - does pop up in Ugarit (Die Wettergottgestalten…, p. 540). 

It probably comes as no surprise that a temple of Anat might have existed in Per-Ramses (Qantir) in the Delta, a city Ramses II named after himself (The Many…, p. 69). Further ones existed in Tanis and Hibis (The Many…, p. 92). Egyptian displays of devotion to Anat are also documented in Gaza and Beth Shan, both of which hosted military garrisons (Anat…, p. 38). An inscribed ostracon from Deir el-Medina dated to the reign of Rameses IV (1153-1147 BCE) mentions provisions sent for a festival of Anat held by soldiers stationed in the former of these two cities (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 76).

Anat generally appears more commonly in royal context than in the sphere of popular religion in Egypt (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 72). Commoners very rarely bore names invoking her, for instance (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 64). Exceptions do exist though, for example Anatram (“Anat is exulted”; however, it has been argued that this woman hailed from outside Egypt) or Anatkhaty (“Anat has appeared”; Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 82). Ultimately in spite of her limited relevance Anat continued to be worshiped in Egypt well into Roman times, surprisingly (Foreign Deites…, p. 2).

Anat’s less famous journeys

While the sources pertaining to Anat’s original cult center and those from Ugarit and Egypt are the three main text corpora dealing with her, they’re not the only examples. I won’t dwell upon every single isolated reference here, though, and will merely list some curiosities. Anat might appear in the myth of Elkunirsa, which is known only from a Hittite translation (Athtart…, p. 96). Why “might”? To begin with, its exact cultural background is uncertain. The character dynamics resemble those known from the Baal Cycle from Ugarit, but are hardly an exact match. It is pretty clear the dramatis personae include El (the eponymous Elkunirsa), his wife Athirat, and a weather god - presumably Baal. The fourth character is only designated by a logogram, though, and while she is clearly the weather god’s ally, it’s up for debate if she’s meant to be Anat or Ashtart (Die Wettergottgestalten…, p. 533). The relevant section of the imperfectly understood plot is fairly simple: El and his wife plot against the weather god together, but the Anat-adjacent character overhears this and presumably warns him (A Reassessment…, p. 172). In theory this matches the portrayal of Anat’s and Baal’s camaraderie in the Baal Cycle, but the mystery goddess is designated by the logogram IŠTAR, which was never used to write Anat’s name. We also can’t be sure to what degree the fact we’re only dealing with a presumably loose adaptation of a foreign composition factored into the plot and characterization. Ultimately the question of Anat’s involvement in the myth of Elkunirsa must remain open (A Reassessment…, p. 174-175).

As a pure curiosity I feel obliged to point out a single possible piece new evidence that has emerged since the publication of past studies of the myth of Elkunirsa. The Akkadian-Amorite bilingual list presents Ishtar as Ḫanat’s lower Mesopotamian counterpart (Two Remarkable…, p. 119). Why this position was denied to Ashtart is anyone’s guess. It’s worth noting the list is evidently hardly a complete representation of the Amorite pantheon, though, as despite containing the expected mainstays like Dagan, Resheph, Yarikh and, indeed, Ḫanat, it’s missing major well attested deities like Hadad. It also contains a variety of evidently minor figures (Two Remarkable…, p. 139). Maybe the author had an oddly specific source - an Amorite listing their family’s deities, perhaps? This is purely speculative, though. Furthermore, the temporal and spatial difference in my opinion makes it largely irrelevant for the investigation of the IŠTAR from the myth of Elkunirsa. The myth of Elkunirsa isn’t the only source where Anat might be hidden behind another deity’s name used as a logogram. There is some evidence that in Emar - yet another city on the Euphrates, not too far from Ugarit - she was represented by the logogram NIN.URTA (Anat…, p. 36). It’s possible the same convention was also followed in the kingdom of Amurru (right to the south of Ugarit) and in Canaan. Given Ninurta’s character, the association would presumably reflect Anat’s belligerent character (Michael P. Streck, Ninurta/Ninĝirsu A. I. In Mesopotamien in RlA vol. 9, p. 519). It might also be worth noting that myths about Ninurta, such as Lugale and Angim, involve enumerating his defeated enemies - something that’s arguably the core of Anat’s boasts about her prowess in the Baal Cycle, as I pointed out earlier.

Whether additional attestations of Anat from between Ugarit and Egypt hide behind a logogram, it’s clear that for the most part she vanished from coastal areas in the first millennium BCE (The Many…, p. 6).

A medieval German depiction of Shamgar (“Sangor”) in battle (wikimedia commons) In the Bible Anat plausibly appears only indirectly in the toponym Beth Anat (Joshua 19:38, Judges 1:33) and as an element in a personal name, Shamgar ben Anat (Judges 3:31) -  “Shamgar, son of Anat” (Anat…, p. 36). Even if all of these attestations are to be accepted as explicit references to Anat, her presence is basically “vestigial” at the absolute best, as Steve A. Wiggins put it (A Reassessment…, p. 230).

Anat is also surprisingly attested in Cyprus. Four Phoenician inscriptions from Idalion, dated to the second half of the first millennium BCE, mention her. They indicate she continued to be viewed as a warlike goddess. A contemporary source from Larnaka - a short bilingual dedication - has Athena in the corresponding passage in Greek (Anat…, p. 39). Interestingly, exporting Anat to Cyprus might be already implied in an Ugaritic source, some 700-800 years earlier - an Ugaritic diplomat stationed there sent a letter back home in which the blessing formula “to Baal Ṣapunu, to the Eternal Sun, to Athtart, to Anat, to all the gods of Cyprus” occurs. This might indicate that he saw these four as members of the broader category of “gods of Cyprus”, though it is also possible that “gods of Cyprus” are meant to be a separate group from the first quartet (Athtart…, p. 141-142). If they aren’t, it’s sensible to assume Anat’s cult on Cyprus was one of the last, if not the last, leftover of Ugaritic culture in the world.

Evaluating Anat in Megaten

With all of the major categories of historical sources shortly summarized, let’s look at how Anat fares in popular culture today. Truth to be told, the answer is “pretty poorly”. She apparently had a cameo in the dreadfully bad 2016 movie Gods of Egypt, which honestly might be worse than just not being acknowledged. Megaten might actually offer the only instance of her modern use which warrants any further discussion.

Anat in Devil Summoner and Soul Hackers (Megaten Wiki) Anat was introduced in Devil Summoner, and received a new color scheme two years later in Soul Hackers; the latter has been reused in every single subsequent mainline appearance. I won’t dwell upon her design here - I will go back to it shortly - though I must admit that while I like it overall (I wouldn’t be writing this article otherwise), neither color scheme is particularly thrilling. Perhaps something closer to Baal’s Soul Hackers palette would work better? In both of her initial appearances Anat is classified as Megami. Since then her placement has not been entirely consistent - she appears in Nine as Lady, and in Strange Journey Redux as Geist (though with the same alignment as in Nine, Light-Chaos). I personally think it would make more sense to put her in Kishin or Fury given that over the top violence is ultimately her main sphere of activity, but for some reason both are almost always uniformly male (with the exception of Marici being a Kishin).

A spectre is haunting the compendium - the spectre of Woman's Encyclopedia

Anat plays no role in the plot of Devil Summoner, but as expected she does get a compendium entry, which then got reused in multiple games. I will quote it here in its entirety: The goddess of birth and death in Semitic lore. She is Baal's sister and wife. It is said that even her father El in the heavens feared her power. She cast an annual curse of death on the ruler of the underworld and her son/son-in-law, Mot, which caused the cycle of fertility of the land. Fertilized by the blood of men, her altar was constantly supplied with human sacrifices.

It should be noted right away that there was never such a thing as a singular, unified “Semitic religion”. It is generally advised to only refer to languages as Semitic, not to peoples, states or systems of belief. In the case of religion the label is particularly ill suited because the cultural - and thus religious - identities of various groups of speakers of individual Semitic languages (Akkadian, Amorite, Amharic, Arabic, Eblaite, Hebrew, etc…) developed long after the languages themselves split apart (Michael P. Streck, Semites, Semitic in RlA vol. 12, p. 386-387). In the case of Anat this label also makes no sense because as you’ve learned earlier, at least two groups fairly enthusiastic about her - the Hurrian community from Ugarit and ancient Egyptians - didn’t even speak languages from this family (meanwhile, there are no attestations of her in, say, Ge’ez or Safaitic or Eblaite). Putting aside this detail, as well as the comment on the nature of the connection between Anat and Baal, which was already covered in detail earlier, the entire entry is sadly almost a word by word quote from Barbara R. Walker. In the Anat (“Anath”) entry in Atlus’ favorite reference book, she is described as “Lady of Birth and Death” right off the bat, just like in the compendium (The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets, p. 29).

Similarly, the bizarre claim about an altar “fertilized by the blood of men” is a Walker original: “she was fertilized by the blood of men, not by their semen, because her worship dated all the way back to the Neolithic when fatherhood was unknown and blood was considered the only substance that could transmit life” (The Woman’s…, p. 30). Human sacrifice is not attested in Ugarit, I am afraid. Even animal blood seemingly didn’t serve as a distinct offering. None of the fairly numerous texts dealing with sacrificial animals mention blood, in fact (Dennis Pardee, Animal Sacrifice at Ugarit, p. 325-326). The passage allegedly describing Anat drinking blood in a short and damaged text (KTU 1.96 = RS 22.225), oft mentioned in old publications, typically alongside alleged parallels from other parts of the world selected about as randomly as in Walker’s magnum opus, in reality doesn’t mention her at all (Theodore J. Lewis, The Disappearance of the Goddess Anat: The 1995 West Semitic Research Project on Ugaritic Epigraphy, p. 117-118; The Many…, p. 10; Ritual and…, p. 161-162). The “annual curse” is likewise Walker's invention - part of a passage in which she apparently concluded the word anathema is derived from Anat’s name (The Woman’s…, p. 30). Yes, really. As I already mentioned in a past article, I suspect she’s a grifter rather than a true believer, but there really has to be some limit to how blatant you can get.

It comes as no surprise the baffling idea of Mot being Anat’s son also finds its origin in the same place (The Woman’s…, p. 30). I should note that Walker refers to Mot as “Mot-Aleyin”, which is a weird mashup of his name with a misspelling of Baal’s most common title,“the mighty” (Divine Epithets…, p. 332). The first search result for this baffling combination is a site with the header “Baal devours children”, which quotes Walker word by word too. Not the best company to be in. The reference to El being afraid of Anat is another almost direct quote from Walker, too (The Woman’s…, p. 31). I’ve already explained what more credible authors said about this matter. I take no pleasure in letting you know that while virtually no passage in the compendium entry originates in a source different than Woman’s Encyclopedia, whoever wrote it didn’t finish their homework. As a result, Megaten enthusiasts were, until now, spared from learning Walker pairs Anat with Jesus (The Woman’s…, p. 468). Elsewhere she instead pairs her with Dagan (naturally erroneously described as a “sea god”; The Woman’s…, p. 206), and with Ganesha (who she describes as the god of Elephantine. Yes, the island in Egypt; The Woman’s…, p. 336), so evidently she multiships. Walker also credulously presents Egyptian Neith and even Athena (sic) as phonetic variants of Anat (The Woman’s…, p. 29) and derives the name from Kala-Nath (The Woman’s…, p. 31). There is a recurring pattern of deriving Mesopotamian, Ugaritic and biblical theonyms, toponyms and technical terms from often considerably younger, and always entirely unrelated, Hindu ones in her book. I will refrain from speculating what’s up with that, but expect more examples to pop up in future articles.

I also have no idea what Walker means by claiming Anat had a twin named Mari (The Woman’s…, p. 29). My best bet is that she somehow convinced herself the city of Mari is a goddess. Elsewhere she seems to instead treat Mari as a name of Anat herself and based on an incredibly vague phonetic resemblance concludes she is thus also Maya, the mother of the Buddha (The Woman’s…, p. 94). The bizarre ideas about Ganesha seem to factor into this in some way, at least implicitly (The Woman’s…, p. 336). Note that Walker’s Maya is the Buddhist Maya, the Greek Maya, and the Hindu concept of maya all in one  (The Woman’s…, p. 626). So, in other words - Anat was in Strange Journey even before Redux, if we follow her logic…?

Having her own oc version of Anat doesn’t prevent Walker from also claiming it’s just an alternate name of Ishtar used in the Bible (The Woman’s…, p. 450); her oc Mari is too, for that matter (The Woman’s…, p. 451). Her imagination really shines elsewhere, though. I’m not even sure what she means by declaring Anat is connected to Quetzalcoatl thanks to being a goddess with “many shorn phalli dangling about her waist” [sic] (The Woman’s…, p. 142). The same goes for the claim echoes of Anat persist in Romani (not the word she uses but I hope you will forgive me for avoiding ethnic slurs) traditions, time and geography be damned (The Woman’s…, p. 391).  Even taking into account that Walker is as credulous as they come, the coverage is outlandishly bad. Perhaps there really was nothing better to use available in Japan in the 1990s (I doubt that, though) - but the series really would benefit from moving past Woman’s Encyclopedia and other similarly dubious literature.

Miscellaneous Megaten attestatons

A scan of Kaneko’s Anat design commentary, courtesy of Aspen

Surprisingly, Kazuma Kaneko’s commentary in the book Devil Summoner World Guidance (p. 62) is both much tamer, and somewhat closer to the truth, than the compendium. I will refrain from speculation if this means some other staff member was responsible for pushing Walker as a source due to lack of evidence going one way or another.

Kaneko appears to assume that Anat only becomes keen on violence after Mot kills Baal, and compares it to the relatively famous Egyptian myth in which Hathor becomes Sekhmet (typically referred to as The Destruction of Mankind or similar). My impression is that he probably read a summary of the final two tablets of the Baal Cycle, and on this basis assumed that mourning Anat was supposed to be her default state, rather than an outlier. As I hopefully demonstrated well enough above, she fights other enemies before Mot, and boasts about numerous unseen battles which presumably ended similarly. Therefore I don’t really think the Egyptian myth in question is a particularly close match. The comparison doesn’t appear to be sourced from Walker’s writing, though. It’s relatively common in scholarship (Baal Cycle… vol. 2, p. 177). I don’t really think it’s possible to pinpoint the exact source Kaneko got it from. Sadly, virtually no major insights about the design are provided. Kaneko only states that the horns are supposed to be cow horns and that the weapon is a “Gurkha knife” (ie. a kukri), since he read that it’s particularly deadly, and thus a suitable weapon for a violent goddess - a pretty random choice, honestly. Neither the asymmetry of the face nor the spiral patterns are explained. My assumption is that Kaneko might have seen photos of a figure in somewhat crudely sculpted robes, and mistook the details for a spiral pattern. While it’s not the exact same misunderstanding, it’s worth bearing in mind that even in scholarship there were cases of misinterpreting folds of clothing on figures discussed earlier as coiled snakes (The Many…, p. 32). As for the latter aspect of Anat’s design, @eirikrjs suggested that it might also be a typical Megaten high fashion influence - specifically a homage to a photo of the model Simonette Gianfelici from a 1995 Thierry Mugler fashion show, with a distinctive asymmetrical mask:

I think another possibility is that the point of reference was a figure with a squashed or otherwise damaged face, though I failed to find any close match for the time being.

Anat’s entry in the Devil Summoner Soul Hackers Complete Guide (p. 57) is somewhere in between the phantasmagoric horrors of the compendium entry and the considerably more sober, if not very informative, Kaneko commentary. We learn right off the bat that Anat developed from “Sumerian Inanna” and “Assyrian (sic) Ashirat (アシラト; apparently the spelling of Asherah used in Giten Megami Tensei…) and Ashtart”. If nothing else, I suppose this explains why we didn’t get Ashtart alongside Yam in Soul Hackers, to match Anat herself being introduced alongside Mot. I already explained both Anat’s origins and what I think about the notion of interchangeability of goddesses, so I will not repeat myself here. Furthermore, the brief note states that Anat started to be depicted with horns in Egypt due to influence from the image of Hathor. The argument that Hathor had some influence on the Egyptian form of Anat is not without parallel (Five Divine…, p. 36). In particular, transfer of epithets from Hathor to freshly introduced foreign goddesses might be the reason why in Egyptian sources Anat is referred to with her usual titles such as “mistress of all the gods” and “mistress of the sky” (Syro-Palestinian Deities…, p. 132). However, it should be pointed out horns were already a part of Anat’s iconographic repertoire in Ugarit, if not earlier; in fact, horns (typically placed on a cap or diadem) were an universal attribute of divinity across the region (The Many…, p. 30).

While Anat didn’t appear in subsequent installments of Devil Summoner, she nonetheless made the jump to 3D in Nine. She plays no role in the plot, but there are two fusion recipes in this game which reference the Baal Cycle (technically they already appear in Soul Hackers). Footage of both fusions, courtesy of @purseowner4thequalityanimation (who brought this to my attention in the first place), can be seen below:

Anat makes a relatively prominent appearance in the Nocturne tech demo shown in the Nocturne documentary as well. Her design has been modified slightly - the asymmetry is pretty much gone:

Anat in the Nocturne tech demo (TCRF) 

Footage of the tech demo can be found on the website The Cutting Room. There isn’t much to say about Anat’s role in it, sadly. The script indicates that the rudimentary plot involved her asking the protagonist to find and defeat Amaterasu (who uses a different design than in prior games or in the finished version of Nocturne) and obtain the Kusanagi sword; according to Takemikazuchi she cursed Amaterasu beforehand too. She is referred to as a “glorious earth mother goddess of the Orient” (栄えあるオリエントの地母神) and a “deity of the Orient” (オリエントの神); “Orient” spelled in katakana is used in Japanese roughly in a similar sense as “ancient Near East” in English, which is presumably the idea here.

Overall I wouldn’t read into the tech demo too deeply. I suspect most if not all of it might just be a placeholder, though the reference to Anat’s “curse” instantly made me think of Walker’s influence on her compendium entry, admittedly. I’m also curious if the famous Mot boss fight was initially conceptualized for the version of the story which still involved Anat. The tech demo seemingly didn’t feature press turn mechanics at all yet, so the gimmick surely came later, though. After failing to appear in the finished version of Nocturne, Anat had to wait for a reappearance until the launch of SMT Imagine a few years later. She, Baal and Mot are featured in a side quest:

Overall, while it’s not the deepest or most complex, I think it was a solid effort at adapting motifs from the Baal Cycle: Anat is looking for Baal, Mot is there as their enemy, that’s about it. Your mileage will vary depending on how you feel about interpreting Anat and Baal as a couple, obviously, since like most other Megaten media this game is apparently adamant about portraying them this way. It’s worth pointing out that, Anat aside, the quest also contains what I’m pretty sure is a remarkably deep cut. At one point the player has to confront a group of demons - specifically Lilim, Lenan Sidhe and Moh Shuvuu - who are supposed to be a stand-in for Baal’s lovers. I have a strong suspicion that they are an allusion to Pidray, Tallay and Arsay from the Baal Cycle. A quick survey of literature indicates that by the 2000s it has been evidently accepted by the majority of researchers that they are Baal’s daughters,.not spouses (Die Wettergottgestalten…, p. 519; Divine Epithets…, p. 97). However, this matter was originally a subject of debate, as the text describes them as both daughters - in this case without any ambiguity if they’re specifically Baal’s daughters - and as brides - without a qualification whose brides they are, though. It is probable that they are only supposed to be prospective brides. It’s worth noting that another myth, Marriage of Nikkal and Yarikh, outright describes Pidray both as a daughter of Baal, and as currently available for marriage (Steve A. Wiggins, Pidray, Tallay and Arsay in the Baal Cycle, p. 86-87). All around I like the idea of referencing Pidray, Tallay and Arsay in a quest, but I’m not exactly sold on using random stand-ins - though I obviously understand it made no sense to introduce new designs just for Imagine. Given that they’re not even the only daughters of Baal in the Ugaritic text corpus (Pidray…, p. 83), perhaps introducing a generic “daughter of Baal” demon to represent all of them would be the ideal solution if a game were to ever explore this side of the Ugaritic pantheon again.

Anat returned to mainline in SMT IV, but there’s nothing to be said about her role in the game. She’s a phys demon in it, which does fit her characterization in primary sources.

For completeness sake I feel obliged to note that Anat appears in Persona 5 and its spinoffs as Makoto’s ultimate persona, with a new design very obviously meant strictly for this game. I do like keeping the horns, at least. Rather surprisingly, the new compendium entry is a huge improvement, though. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still questionable at best, it calls her a “fertility” goddess and adds some sort of seasonal interpretation of her character which is puzzling to explain, to put it lightly, but the worst excesses of the old one are gone, at least. It’s also sort of funny the same game has Astarte as another party member’s ultimate persona but Baal keeps his mainline design and doesn’t share this role. Anat’s mainline design returned in Strange Journey Redux, where she acts as one of the wardens of the freshly added Womb of Grief. Not much to say about that, really. Despite the game's themes and inspirations we were spared from any new Walker references, at least.

Most recently, Anat made an appearance in Dx2. Her compendium entry is just a rehash of a variety of Walker classics, and as such warrants no further discussion. Walker’s invented blood sacrifice is referenced in her dialogue on top of that:

Screencap courtesy of @kidcapes She is also entirely elec-oriented - a moveset which really would suit Baal more. I feel like we’re dealing with a case of form determining function - and since her SH design, to put it very unflatteringly, is colored like a Pikachu gijinka… It’s pretty obvious she should be a phys beatstick, but oh well. Despite Baal having a relatively large role in SMT V, one which even deals with the notion of kingship among the gods at that, Anat is nowhere to be found in the game. It seems like a pretty huge missed opportunity, especially considering the series is uniquely positioned to take advantage of her background. It already features most of the other characters from the relevant parts of the Baal Cycle, and arguably managed to at least put Mot into popular perception to some degree. And it’s not like much of what Anat does in the Baal Cycle and in other literary texts would be hard to adapt in the form of a quest. I honestly don’t think that’s strictly an Anat issue, though. Rather, the cause is this guy:

The issue, I think, is that Megaten is a series which is heavily self-referential - to the point where it becomes detrimental, arguably. And since even though Baal’s compendium entry makes it clear he’s supposed to be the Ugaritic god, his purpose is inevitably serving as a prelude to Beelzebub (who has nothing in common with him beyond a part of his name being a mangled version of the same word) as a result, there’s simply no room left for Anat. Unless you want to adapt the tale of Aqhat or go deep into semi-obscure Egyptian sources (most of which would require Seth, which is another can of worms in Megaten context), Anat is, essentially, Baal’s co-star. And pretty much needs him and his enemies to be present to be efficiently utilized. It seems for the time being the franchise isn’t very interested in that - which is bizarre, because it’s down to being unwilling to take advantage of assets it already has. Still, I’d like to believe that I was able to demonstrate that the source material is fun enough to warrant changing that.

Conclusions: why do I care about Anat, and why should you?